Unforgettable
by Secret Agent Blue Eyes
Summary: Nymphadora Tonks knew a thing or two about forgetting. Enough to


People forget. It's only natural - Tonks had been doing it her whole life. Forgetting birthdays, dates (never a good situation, the explaining afterwards), flat numbers... Probably everything forgettable had been forgotten, at least once. She always insisted it wasn't her fault (And it really wasn't, her father was the same way, so it was probably genetic. Her mother blamed his upbringing and something about smoking weed, which had prompted Tonks to light some gillyweed and who knew that stuff was so flammable? Anyway, she'd only been eight and it wasn't as if eyebrows didn't grow back.) 

The fact was, Nymphadora Tonks knew a thing or two about forgetting. Enough to where she knew that she wanted nothing to do with being forgotten. It wasn't as if she did everything she did as a means of acting out - every action was one hundred percent pure Tonks, a fact upon which she prided herself. But still, it did help to making a definite impression upon the people she met. Remarkable, rememberable Tonks. Unforgettable Tonks.

Which is why it was, well, rather _chafing_ to sit across a table from someone who, by all appearances, hadn't distinguished her from the ratty cat in the window. Who seemed to take offense to comparison with some uppity, spiky-haired, sleep-deprived Auror, as he cast her a nasty glare, flipped his tail, and padded off to greener (and mousier) pastures. Tonks sighed and focused on the task at hand. Unfortunately, between observing the cat and chafing (she rather liked that word, regardless of negative connotation) about being ignored, she'd forgotten what was being discussed.

"Er..."

"You weren't listening at all."

"Er..."

"Wonderful. I appreciate your wasting my valuable time. If this is what I can expect from a meeting in which important matters are to be discussed, I may very well withdraw my help. Clearly, my concerns - incidentally, the reason for this meeting - are not serious enough for the Order of the Phoenix, regardless of the fact that they may very well be a threat to my life."

This wasn't going very well _at all_. "It isn't _like_ that, honestly!" Tonks cried, feeling somewhat distressed and not at all happy. "I mean, I can't help it. I'm just a bit flighty sometimes, is all. Everyone knows it. I've been trying to work on it, really I have. Though with things like offended cats and an element of forgettability it's really not that easy!"

She was feeling rather sulky, and that _particular_ condescending glare _really_ wasn't helping. Bugger it all. She wasn't in school anymore - it wasn't as if she needed to be cowed by some bitter, neurotic old man (though really he wasn't that old - same age as Remus anyway and she didn't so much think of Remus as old but he definitely didn't have that persnickety element to him which is what she associated with old most of the time and clearly she just needed to stop associating and start paying attention to what was going on).

"And don't look at me like that. I'm fully aware you don't think much of me (you never did), but I didn't intend to hurt your feelings and if you could just repeat the finer points..."

"_Hurt_ my _feelings_!"

"Yes. And you're being rather a prat about it. It's not like I meant to..."

"I don't have feelings, Miss Tonks. And if that is all..."

"Oh, please. Everyone's got feelings. Anyway, I doubt you'd act like some petulant schoolboy if you didn't..."

"_Act_ like _what_!"

"Stop _yelling_ at me! You know what I said."

Usually smouldering glances were reserved for temptresses and the like, but some of them could be quite violent. She was definitely being treated to one of those at the moment, and she wasn't sure she liked it. It didn't last long, however, as soon he was billowing (normal people didn't billow, she was sure) toward the door. Definitely touched a nerve.

At the next meeting, he completely avoided eye contact. For someone who seemed quite intent on ignoring her, though, he wasn't doing a very good job. He _wanted_ to look (if only to glare), she could tell. And that meant she was getting somewhere.

She wondered what he was like underneath and all the scowling (and there was _a lot_ of scowling) and heavy robes (even in the summer!) and the nose (well, all right, that was probably here to stay). Probably not much better than he was _with_ all that, but it was an interesting thought. She wondered if he liked bunnies. Everyone liked bunnies. He'd probably use them for experiments. She decided against the possibility of an anonymous Easter gift.

What did he eat? Or did he just subsist off fumes? Probably toxic fumes. In fact, he'd probably worked up a resistance to hemlock and just lived off that.

Tonks wondered if she was wondering too much. But it was too late. Her mission of unforgettability had become something a bit more than she'd expected, and she found herself wondering a fair bit of the time. The kind of wondering you'd rather not do but can't help.

She wondered if he was a virgin. Likely, she figured. I mean, come on. Someone like that? She wondered about his preference, but eventually figured he probably didn't have a preference. Probably didn't know what sex was. Probably repressed all memories of sex-ed. Did they have sex-ed in those days? Or did you just learn all you knew in offhand broom-closet encounters and the occasional foray into the unknown in the showers?

How did she get so concerned with his sex life? Something was very wrong with that. Very, very wrong. But at the same time, very compelling. Morbid curiosity, may it be cursed.

She figured there was only one way to find out. Well, not really _find out_ as much as _start the ball rolling in that general direction_. And it'd be helpful in regards to The Mission, that much was obvious. Still, did she have what it took to do it? Of course. She was Tonks! Of the pink hair and questionable fashion choices! There was nothing she could not do.

And so she did. It was surprisingly easy. It ended up happening at The Burrow, after a meeting had concluded. He was sulking (though that was usually the case, so one could say he was just behaving normally) in the kitchen while everyone else had moved into the parlour to have tea and a chat about things not having to do with death and the destruction of worlds and etcetera. Honestly, she'd worried he'd have some kind of instinctual reaction and evade the whole situation, which would be awkward for both of them instead of just him, which was the plan. But aside from navigating around the nose, it wasn't difficult at all. She figured he was frozen in fear or something like that.

It wasn't a _bad_ kiss. Just about like every other kiss she'd planted on someone who wasn't expecting it. Remus, for one, never failed to give her a good reaction. Blushing. Honestly, _so_ adorable. But he just sat there, rather agape. She didn't bother to do more than smirk at him and flounce out the door. She'd gotten her answer and her mission had ended in resounding success.

Nymphadora Tonks had again proved herself _quite_ unforgettable.


End file.
